Count It
by Skalidra
Summary: That time of year has come around again. It's one of the annual parties at the manor, and Dick is doing his duty and playing the part of the playboy's naive son. Jason, stuck in the Cave below and new to his relationship with Dick, can't stand watching him flirt with all of the women there. It's a recipe for an explosive mix.


Hello again! Alright, so this is the second of the prompts that I received. An anonymous one, for Jason/Dick, prompt 5: "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" Specifically requesting Dick saying it. So, here you are! Enjoy! See you again on Friday!

 **Warnings** for this are: pretty much nonexistent! There's reference to spanking, but other than that it's all totally fine.

* * *

My teeth grind together.

Resolutely, I put a little more focus into sharpening the curving, wave pattern of my knife. Maybe sharpening it a little more than necessary, if I'm honest.

I am definitely not paying attention to the security feeds open on the Batcomputer a few dozen feet ahead of me, or the party going on up in the manor above that's shown on them. I'm _not_ looking at the way that Dick is in the center of a crowd of women his age and older, with a smile on his lips and his body language screaming invitation. I'm not seeing the too-close slide of bodies, or the too-familiar brush of hands. I'm definitely not listening to the bright, carefree sound of Dick's laughter, or the soft counterpoint of Dick's voice when he chooses one woman to lean closer to and speak in the ear of.

No, I'm not paying attention to any of that. Not one fucking bit.

Why would it matter if I was in Dick's bed just last night? Why would that change anything? Why would the fact that I fucked the great Nightwing not even twenty-four hours ago — put my teeth and tongue against his skin until he moaned, " _No marks_ ," — change a damn thing? It obviously doesn't mean that Dick isn't going to flirt and charm his way through half of the women in the whole room. It doesn't mean that Dick isn't going to curl his fingers around the stem of his champagne glass in a purposely eye catching and sensual slide of motion, or give that laugh every time one of them says something even remotely funny. Of course Dick is just going to go on flirting, smiling, getting _too close_.

Nevermind that I backed Dick up against a wall months ago, and kissed him with every frustrated ounce of desire that had been building in my gut for years. Or that Dick rose to the challenge and met me in it, the hands that could easily have shoved me away dragging me closer instead. To hell with the way that we fell into a bed in one of my safehouses and fucked until dawn, or the way I woke up with Dick's hair in my nose and his skin glowing golden in the afternoon sun sneaking through the window. I made him food; we agreed that this was going to be more than just some casual sex here and there.

Why should I have thought that just because we were official, that made me the only target for Dick's flirting? The only person who got to see that slow smile, or be the subject of that quick flick of his gaze up and down the _fucking_ woman in front of him.

I shove my knife back in its sheath, pushing it to the side and turning to the spread of my guns and gears. I commandeered a table in the Cave, since I can't be up with the rest of them.

The laughter from the feeds _doesn't_ make my shoulders raise, or my hands clench for a moment, and it _definitely_ doesn't make me clench my jaw so hard it hurts. Not even a little.

* * *

My face hurts.

Too much laughing, too much smiling, and I don't feel any of it. If I could get away with telling these buzzards masquerading as woman to leave me alone, I would. Being in the spotlight is one thing, most of the time I enjoy that, but not when it's like this. This is more like being tied up in the middle of a group of supervillains, all of them circling and just waiting for the right opportunity to get their teeth in me. But supervillains I can kick in the face. Socialite ladies, not so much.

It's a blessing when I feel a hand at my elbow, too firm to be one of the women. Hopefully. I turn my head, looking down to identify the hand and finding Tim standing at my elbow. He's got a sweet smile on his face that looks, to me, a little painfully unnatural. Tim smiles, but not this sugar coated, _sweet_ thing that's on his face right now. Obviously, Tim is having just as much fun at this party as I am. That is, none at all.

I barely even register whatever excuse he spouts, but I go more than willingly when he pulls me out of the crowd and towards the edges of the room. We head for one of the partially hidden doors, half behind a table and a decorative drape set up for the party. I just barely get the chance to drop my glass off on that table before Tim pushes the door open and drags me through. He shuts it as soon as I'm through, and I turn back to him.

" _Thank_ you," I immediately say, keeping my voice low enough to not be heard, just in case any of them followed us over. "God, they're like vultures."

"You need to get downstairs." Tim's voice is serious, hushed, and the tone makes me snap to attention.

"What happened?" I ask, all my senses clicking into alert. "Was there an attack? Gotham or somewhere else? What—"

" _No_ ," Tim cuts in, with just a little bit of an exasperated look. "If there had been an attack, do you really think Bruce would still be standing in there making small talk?" He doesn't wait for me to answer. "You need to go downstairs because Jason is cleaning all his weapons, and glaring _holes_ into the security feeds that are up of the party. He's _pissed_ , Dick, and whatever it is you need to go fix it before he does something drastic."

 _Oh_. "Alright. Yeah, got it."

Why would Jason be angry? Especially angry enough that Tim dragged me out of the party I'm supposed to be making an appearance at — the one of few that the estranged Bludhaven son has to show up for — and told me to fix it. Usually Jason doesn't do anything drastic unless he's seriously upset, so if Tim thinks he's that angry… Yeah, I do need to head downstairs and see what's going on.

I slip past Tim, heading for the hidden door to the lift that will take me down to the Cave. Normally I'd take the stairs, but the lift is closer right now. I don't think that this thing with Jason is urgent enough that the seconds are going to matter, but the longer I'm away from the party the more disapproving Bruce is going to be. He's already not that happy about my relationship with Jason, so I shouldn't give him any more ammo to pull out next time he feels like taking shots. Staying away from the party too long is just asking for another lecture, or a few more small, pointed comments about Jason being a distraction and a bad influence. Not that it would matter. Keeping Jason happy and satisfied is worth the comments.

I still remember the look on his face when we agreed that we were going to be official. Wariness, yeah, but also joy, desire, and the edges of shock. It firmly convinced me that whatever feelings I had lingering for Jason — maybe always had — they weren't misplaced. He's worth it. Rough around the edges, definitely, but the way he gentles whenever we're alone is enough to know that he's a lot more than his sarcastic, aggressive front. It's in the way he tugs me onto his lap — horizontal across the couch, while I work leads through my laptop — tucks his head down against my shoulder, and just breathes me in without asking for any other attention. It's in the way he'll reach up after we've shared a kiss and touch my cheek; that gentle swipe of his thumb and brush of his knuckles. It's in every time I've woken up to him watching me, and the small, soft smiles that he gives when I meet his gaze.

The whispered, " _Hey, handsome."_

Jason is worth every single inch that I care for him, and then some.

When I get down to the Cave Jason is sitting in front of a table, his gear and weapons spread across it. He's not in anything but a pair of black sweatpants and a white tank top, which leaves the tension in his muscles on display. He glances up at me, then carefully sets the piece of whatever gun he's working on back on the table. He's moving like he's restraining himself; he probably is. I step up next to the table as he leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. He hasn't looked at me this defensively in a while.

"Dick," he greets, flatly.

Tim's right. I can see the fury in Jason's eyes, in his muscles, in the set of his mouth. So I step closer, as close as I can get without pushing either between his legs or right up to his side. I lean my weight against the table, bracing my left hand there after a glance to make sure I'm not touching anything dangerous or sharp. Jason follows my movements, but doesn't react to them.

"Jay," I murmur, holding his gaze. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," he immediately snaps, which of course means he's a long ways away from being alright. "You've got a party to be at, Dickie-boy." And using old, insulting nicknames too. Oh, Jason is very angry. I reach forward, to trail my fingers across his cheek, and he recoils and snarls a little bit. "You smell like _them_ ," he says, with a jerk of his head towards the security feeds. "I don't want you touching me till you've showered."

The flat refusal makes me wince, and I force myself to let my hand fall and respect Jason's wishes. "The party can wait. Jay, come on. Tell me what's wrong. If you won't tell me, I can't help you fix it."

His fingers clench down on his own arms, and he snorts. "Told you, Dickie. I don't want you near me until you've showered, not with that perfumed _stink_ all over you."

It clicks.

"Wait a minute? Are you _jealous?_ "

"No!" Jason almost shouts. Then he tosses his head, tightens his grip on his own arms, and looks away from me. "Fuck, _yes_. Damnit. It's stupid, I know. I know they don't mean anything, I know who you are up there is barely even _you_ , but I can't help it." I lean forward, and this time he doesn't stop me from tracing my fingers across his jaw, or from tilting his head so he'll look back at me. He stares at me for a moment, and then shakes his head. "I just can't _stand_ seeing you smile, and laugh, and _flirt_ with all of them."

I step forward, and Jason doesn't stop me from sitting down on his lap, or sliding my arm around his shoulders. "Hey," I whisper, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. "You don't have to apologize for anything you feel, Jay. Not ever." His arms slowly uncross, and then his arm slides around my waist and his head ducks down against my shoulder and neck. "You know I have to do all of that." He makes a noise that I read as somewhere between anger and acceptance. "You don't have to be here," I point out, pressing my lips to the top of his head.

"Yeah I do," he counters. "You guys are stuck up there, the girls are busy; someone's gotta man the computers."

I trace my fingers up his back, and he eases just a little bit when I work my fingers into the tense muscles of his neck. Not enough to make a difference, but enough to make me feel a little bit better. "Is there anything I can do to make this better, Jay?"

I can feel him shove out a breath against my neck, and then shrug. "You have to do it, I get it. Doesn't mean I have to like it." His head pulls up, and the curve of his mouth is still upset but it's a little less furious. "Don't suppose I could just get you to not _touch_ them?"

"They'd notice." He nods, arm tightening around my waist. His eyes close, and I lean in and press another kiss to his forehead. "I'm coming right down to you the second this is over, Jay. You know that, right?"

"I know," he mutters, then lets go and rolls his shoulder to push my arm up and off of him. "Go on, Dick. You've got women to charm."

I pause for another moment, and then lean further down so I can catch his mouth and draw him into a real kiss. He's a little stiff, but he doesn't push me away and that's enough for right now. "Hey," I murmur against his mouth. "It's just you, Jay. I wouldn't even let the vultures up there kiss my ass."

"Better not," he almost snaps. "That's _mine_."

I give a soft smile, brush my lips over his for another moment. "I'll tone it down as much as I can. How about you count, Jay?" His gaze raises to mine, confused, and I trace my fingers across his cheek. "Count how many times I touch one of them. When this is all done, I'll let you spank me that many times."

His mouth parts a little bit, eyes widening in surprise. He stares at me for a moment, and then scoffs and shakes his head. "I can be a selfish bastard, Dick, but I'm not going to punish you for doing something that you have to. That's not fair. Believe it or not, I _do_ know that you haven't got a choice about playing the stupid little playboy's son."

"No," I correct, "it's not fair that you have to sit here and take something that hurts. If you could leave, I'd agree with you, but you're stuck down here." I tilt his jaw up, pulling his gaze up to meet mine. "This isn't fair to you, Jay. You should get something for that, and I'm happy to give it." I peck his lips again, and then push myself off his lap. "Count it. I'll see you when the party's done."

"Dick—" he sounds a little exasperated, so I cut him off.

"No argument! Count!"

* * *

"So?"

I press my lips together, looking away from Dick and trying not to give him what he wants. Totally pointless, Dick always gets what he wants from me, but I can at least pretend that I can resist. "This is stupid," I argue, glancing across the otherwise empty Cave. The others have already headed out. Tim back to the Titans, and Bruce and Damian out for a late patrol. I think they're just working out their frustrations, honestly. Damian can only take so many socialites swarming him like overly-fond bees before he gets homicidal. He doesn't have the practice at it that Bruce and Dick do.

" _Jay_ …" Dick's voice is a warning, and his fingers tighten at either side of my waist. "Tell me. How many times?"

"It's ridiculous; you don't deserve it and I'm not going to _force_ this on you just because I—" I cut off with a yelp when Dick's hands curl beneath my tank top, pinching the skin of my sides sharply between his nails. "Ow! Dick, what the hell?!"

"It's a good thing it's not about what I deserve then, isn't it?" Dick smiles, but his tone is another slight warning, and his hands don't leave my sides. "Come on, Jay. This is about you; tell me how many times."

I huff out a breath that's equally resigned and frustrated, and roll my shoulders in a shrug. "Forty-seven," is my grudging answer. It was a little easier after I talked to Dick, but it still hurt and it still made me grind my teeth together. It's probably a good thing that Dick came down, otherwise I'm not sure if I would have been able to stop myself from doing something drastic and foolish to break up the party. Like crashing through the window in my full gear.

Dick's hands draw back as he leans in, kissing me. I'm aware enough to know that he's using it as a reward for doing what he wanted, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy it. It's soft, which means the graze of his teeth across my lip as he pulls away surprises me a little bit. "Then let's go," he whispers, with a curved grin. His hand curls around my right wrist, and then he's tugging me with him as he heads towards the stairs.

I let him for a moment, as I work through the conflicting feelings in my head. On one hand, the idea of having Dick over my lap, of turning his skin red, is pretty intoxicating. On the other…

I dig my heels into the floor and pull back, stopping in my tracks. "Dick, _no_." He must hear how serious I am, because his grin falls away and he gives me his full attention. "I _won't_ punish you just because I'm possessive. I don't care how angry or jealous it made me to watch all of that, I _won't_ hurt you for it."

Dick stares at me for a moment, and then he steps up to me. His mouth curls into that slow smile that I love so much, and he reaches up with both hands. I let him draw me into a kiss, his arms resting on my shoulders as his fingers curl through my hair. It's just as gentle as the last one, chaste and nothing more than a brush of his lips across mine. Until he makes a quiet, satisfied noise and pulls back. His forehead rests against mine, and my hands are careful against his waist.

"Jay," Dick murmurs, his voice soft and happy. Something in me melts at the tone, my breath catching because the way he says it sounds like I'm the direct cause of his joy. Maybe I am. "It's not a punishment," he continues after a few seconds, "it's a payment."

I open my eyes as he pulls back, my jaw tightening. "But—"

" _Jason_." My mouth snaps closed, and he smiles. He catches my right hand, raising it so he can press a kiss to my knuckles. "To be a punishment, it would have to be something I wouldn't enjoy, right?"

He winks, lets go of my hand, and pivots on his heels to walk away. I stare after him.

"Wait, _what?_ " I ask, in shock, confusion, and maybe — definitely — a whole lot of slowly startled desire. "Dick, _wait_."

He tosses a grin over his shoulder, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "If you catch me, maybe I'll even bring out some of the toys I've got hidden away." Then he's running, taking the stairs three or four at a time. I jerk into action before I've even fully heard his challenge, and when it registers I speed up.

Oh, there is _no_ way I'm losing this one. Even if I don't fully understand it just yet. He's _mine_.


End file.
